


Healing

by Luciferous_Lampadomancy



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Gen, im sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-03-30 23:28:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13962390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luciferous_Lampadomancy/pseuds/Luciferous_Lampadomancy
Summary: Hawke's band splits up, Hawke and Isabela go one way, Fenris and Anders the other. Fenris and Anders meet Slavers and everything goes wrong.





	Healing

**Author's Note:**

> I want to apologize in advance. I saw a prompt, had the urge to write angst cause I haven't in awhile, so have fun with this little drabble that made me cry writing it.

“Healing would be welcome!” The familiar shout across the cavern was met with the continued shouts of pain and exertion, clashes of metal and steel, nothing unusual. What _was_ unusual was the lack of blue swirls of magic wrapping around him. The longer time stretched on with the gash in his side getting more and more aggravated, Fenris ground out another call for healing.

When that also wasn’t met with the pull of magic on him as well, Fenris grew angry, dipping into his last reserves of stamina to finish off the rest of the slavers in quick succession, flitting in and around them all, slaying each one with deadly precision. Finally, when they’ve all hit the ground, Fenris turns, and finds the mage in question nowhere in sight. Immediately his mind is racing in all different directions, brands lighting again angrily, but all of them get cut short when he directs his gaze through the bodies and finds the all too familiar ratty coat amongst the bloodbath on the ground.

“Fasta Vass-” Fenris hisses, rushing forward and falling to his knees by Anders’ side, “Mage!-”

All he gets in response is a ragged wheeze, Anders’ hand raising ever so slightly before falling back to the ground lifelessly. Fenris opens his mouth to bark at him to stop joking around and get up when he realizes the problem, a gaping wound in Anders’ stomach, blood darkening his tunic farther and farther. Instantly, Fenris’ hands are pressing down tightly against the darkest area of red, trying to apply pressure and staunch the blood, flinching when he hears the weak groan of pain from Anders.

“Andraste’s tits Mage, the fuck were you doing?! Why didnt you tell me there was one on you!” Fenris growls, pressing down harder when he feels more blood seep through, staining his hand. Though his voice was course, the pain in his side became a distant memory and was easily replaced by the heavy pit of guilt weighing him down, making his stomach churn, "Fight, Mage, you can't die like this, just heal yourself!"

“..too…too-late..” Fenris’ ears flick to the raspiness of the whispered words, just barely being able to distinguish them, but he shakes his head violently all the same.

“No, no it’s not too late, I won’t let you go down like this, from _slavers_ no less. Hawke is going to be back soon and then he can heal you enough to get you back to the clinic-you’re going to be fine.” Fenris’ voice was firm, but it shocked him how much he truly wanted his words to be true.

Anders’ eyes start to flutter and Fenris growls, shaking his head again, “No! Don’t you dare, stay awake Mage, stay awake until Hawke gets here, Kaffas!” Fenris watches as Anders’ eyes slip closed and he feels his chest grow tight. Looking up, he’s glancing around, desperate to see some movement-to see Hawke make his return with Isabela, “Hawke!” He’s shouting now, his voice echoing off the rock and back, slamming into him like a wall. 

Looking back down at Anders, Fenris finds his chest not moving now, and feels something in his chest snap, “No-nononono, Mage, _Mage_!” He hisses, wishing he had a free hand to shake Anders’ shoulders, or cup his face, just, _something_ to make those maker damned eyes open again. He'd take the stupid condescending eyes on him now if only they'd actually open, “Don’t you _dare_ do this! You can’t die!” Desperate, Fenris lifts his top hand to press two fingers under Anders’ jaw, praying to whatever god or gods would listen that he’d find at least some sort of pulse there. After several long moments of finding nothing, Fenris is almost shocked when he manages to pick up a tiny, almost nonexistent beat against his fingers.

“Kaffas! Just-stay with me. Stay fucking here mage, you're our healer, Hawke needs you. What if they need healing? What about all the people in Darktown?" He feels his chest grow impossibly tight at that too, "They need their healer, they need that beacon of hope in the shitty sewers you make your home in. Keep that shitty too big heart pumping, you have to, who else is going to heal everyone? Who else is going to lose all his money to me at Wicked Grace? Who else is going to sneak his own food into the alienage to be sure they ate too? How are all the cats in Darktown going to survive? Who's going to keep yelling at those templars to keep them in line? Who's going to talk about mage rights incessantly and infuriate me to no end? Who's going to push my buttons every maker-damned day? ...Who's... Who's going to keep making me think and question everything I knew about mages? ..."

Fenris continues talking, refusing to acknowledge the knowing pit in his stomach, refusing to acknowledge the fact that the pulse against his fingers is fading, refusing to acknowledge the fact that Anders' chest is still, the fact that the blood between his fingers is no longer warm.

When Hawke finally does make it back, calling jovially for Fenris and Anders, they instead find the warrior bent over the mage, eerily still. Anders’ hand was held tightly in Fenris’ own bloodstained one and pressed to his forehead, lips parted and teeth bared in a grimace of pure anguish, still talking, still whispering to the mage. Hawke too, falls to their knees.


End file.
